


Cut me open and the light streams out

by linndechir



Category: Mob City
Genre: M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben insists on seeing the scar Sid got when he took a knife for Ben all those years ago. Sid doesn't like anyone touching that scar, but he'll let Ben do anything he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut me open and the light streams out

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly ship Ben/Sid platonically because Ben insists on being straight in my head, so this is about as far as I could get him to go. ;)

“The shirt, too, Sid.” Ben tugs on the white cotton, frowns when Sid doesn't move right away. “That's the whole point.”

“Come on, Ben, do we have to do this?” Sid shifts uncomfortably. A slight shivers goes through his body, even though the room is pleasantly warm.

“Yeah, we do. I want to see it.” And that's that, really. Sid has never been good at saying no to Ben. He hates Ben's obsession with that scar, that ugly red thing that still throbs unpleasantly on some days. He doesn't know why Ben insists on seeing it – as if he needed any reminder that Sid belongs to him. Still, he pulls his undershirt obediently over his head and throws it onto a nearby chair, just barely resists the urge to fold his arms and cover his chest.

Ben's eyes are almost hungry, and Sid feels oddly exposed. He barely ever takes off his shirt when he's not alone, and although Ben has seen the scar countless times, the way he's looking at it still makes Sid shiver. 

“Don't know why you're always hiding it, even from me,” Ben says. He's so close that the fabric of his suit brushes against Sid's bare skin. For a few moments he just looks, and then his fingertips find the edge of the scar on Sid's chest, close to his shoulder. The scar tissue is thick and numb, but the skin around it is unusually sensitive, and Ben is always so tender when he touches it.

“It's not some badge of honour, Ben,” Sid says. He's tense, he can't help it. “I did it for you, and I'd do it again, and again, until it kills me some day.”

“I know, Sid.” Ben's fingertips trail down, slowly retracing the rough edges of the scar over Sid's chest. “That's why I like seeing it. It's mine. You got this because of me.”

“I got this because of the bastard who knifed me,” and Sid tries to think about that rather than about the way his skin is tingling. Ben is so close, and usually that doesn't bother Sid in the slightest, but _usually_ he's not exposed like this, _usually_ Benny isn't touching him this way. Like he wants him, almost. Sid flinches away from Ben's hand, on instinct more the anything else, and Ben's frown is like a slap in the face.

“Hold still,” Ben says, hurt that Sid would ever shy away from him, and Sid leans into his touch as if to make up for it. Ben's fingers ghost over Sid's sternum, always following the thick scar, don't stop even as they slide down over Sid's stomach and below his navel. Sid draws in a shuddering breath as Ben's left hand finds its way to his hip. Sid's trousers are loose on his hips without the suspenders to hold them up, and they easily slide a bit further down when Ben tugs on them. The scar is so long that Ben has to push down Sid's underwear as well to reach its end, fingertips brushing over a few curls of pubic hair when he retraces the last inch of scar tissue.

Ben splays his palm over Sid's lower stomach, keeps it there as he steps around him. He's almost a head taller than Sid, broader too, and Sid finally relaxes as Ben pulls him back against him, Sid's back leaning against Ben's chest, his head lolling back to rest on Ben's shoulder. Warm breath caresses his bared neck and shoulder. Sid doesn't like Ben's new aftershave, the scent too heavy for his taste, but underneath it he still smells like Ben, the same Ben who let Sid sleep in his bed on cold nights when they were boys, the same Ben who stroked Sid's hair whenever he was sick, or when he was laid up in bed for months after he stepped between Ben and the knife that was aimed at Ben's ribs.

“You killed him,” Sid says lovingly, a smile on his lips. It's the only time Ben ever killed anyone for Sid, not the other way around. Sid wishes he'd been there to seen it, but he'd still been bedridden at the time. “Cut him open the way he cut me open, except you didn't let him live.”

“First man I ever killed,” Ben says, like it's not something Sid knows. “I was angry after I killed him. Didn't know yet if you'd live or die, and I thought, if Sid dies, I can't kill the bastard a second time.”

Ben's other arm tightens around Sid's body, wrapped firmly around his waist to keep him close. Ben is half-hard, Sid can feel his cock pressing against the small of his back through the suit fabric, and that doesn't happen often when he touches Sid. Sid doesn't mind, he's Benny's, whatever Benny wants him for. He covers Ben's hand with his own.

“Wasn't going to leave you, Ben.” He smirks a little. “You'd get yourself killed or arrested within a week if you didn't have me. Can't let that happen.”

Ben laughs, his broad chest vibrating against Sid's back. Sid spent half his childhood sleeping curled up to that chest, Ben's arms around him, Ben's larger body keeping him warm, and for all that Sid was the one who stepped in front of Ben in any fight – never mind that Ben was more than able to take care of himself – he always felt safe in Ben's arms. Cared for, in a way he never knew he wanted to be cared for until Ben decided that Sid was his. They don't sleep together anymore, but he still feels the same way whenever Ben's hands touch him, whenever he can smell Ben or lean into him.

There's a knot in his stomach just where Ben's hand is resting, a tightly wound heat that could be both discomfort or arousal, but clearly turns into the latter when Ben's hand slips further down, unbuttoning his trousers before he cups Sid's cock through the soft fabric of his underwear. Sid groans, fingers digging into Ben's forearm.

“What -” Sid tries to turn enough to look at him, but Ben doesn't let him, his other arm holding Sid in place. He's so much stronger than Sid, always has been. Ben has to lean down to fit his lips against Sid's neck, against the hairline just behind his ear. It's not a kiss, only a fleeting touch that makes Sid's heart race.

“Sshh, it's all right, Sid,” Ben mumbles. A hint of hesitation in his voice, like he's not entirely sure what he's doing, but his hand is steady as he palms Sid's cock until it hardens. Sid's knees feel like they're going to give out underneath him, but Ben's keeping him on his legs, keeping him up even as he's threatening to make him fall.

It's like a dream Sid still expects to end at any moment, but Ben doesn't let go of him. He pulls the fabric further down until it's out of the way, just tickling his balls while Ben's hand wraps tightly around his cock. Sid is usually quiet in bed, but he can't bite back a loud moan, not when Ben gives a few strong tugs on his cock, never one for half-measures and hesitation once he's set his mind to something. His lips are still on Sid's neck, his breath too quick for him to appear quite unaffected, and Sid can still feel the slight pressure of Ben's cock against his back. He tries to remember the last time this happened, also after Ben had insisted on seeing and touching the scar, but it's been a while. Been too long, really, because Ben's touch makes him more light-headed than any whore's or any hustler's; and Sid never had to be close to someone to sleep with them, but Ben touching him is different, more than just physical. This is Ben doing something just for him, and even if Ben's hand didn't feel so good that Sid has to pull himself together to make this last, Sid would rather have this than be with anyone else.

His knees buckle when he comes, held up only by Ben's arm around his waist and the support of Ben's body against his back. Ben doesn't pull back right away, like he burnt himself, but strokes him through it, slowly towards the end. His hand leaves a messy trail on Sid's skin when it finally slides to his hip, and Sid is pliant in Ben's arms when Ben turns him around to face him.

“Your suit,” Sid protests weakly, but Ben pulls Sid against his chest, huffs a dismissive laugh against Sid's hair.

“What do I care about my suit, I got hundreds of them.” 

Sid smiles against Ben's shoulder, the last bit of discomfort leaving his body as Ben strokes his back. It's even worth the unpleasantness of Ben staring at the scar before. Sometimes Sid wishes this, too, would happen more often, but he's long ago accepted that this just isn't how they are, it's not what Ben wants and needs from him, and Sid is fine with that. He loves Ben, and he knows Ben doesn't love him any less just because he prefers to have women in his bed. Sid doesn't blame him – if he had the choice between himself and the girls Ben has, hell, he'd bone those girls, too. But that won't stop him from enjoying Ben's generosity whenever he can. 

For minutes his hands rest on Ben's shoulders for support, until he lets one of them trail down. Stills again at Ben's belt, waiting for permission before he'd go on. He can count on one hand the times Ben ever let him return the favour. _Makes me feel bad, Sid,_ he'd said when Sid had asked why, and Sid hadn't needed him to explain. There was no use arguing with Ben, no use explaining to him that he would't mind doing it, that he wouldn't feel used, because it wasn't about what Sid felt. It was about how Ben felt, and if Ben felt like he was treating his best friend with anything less than the respect he deserved, he wouldn't do it.

“You?”

Ben hesitates for a moment, as if considering it, then shakes his head.

“I'll get myself a girl.” He leans his forehead against Sid's. “We can share her, if you like.”

“I'm good, Ben.” He doesn't say that anyone else's touch would feel cheap right now. Ben knows. They don't need to talk about things like that. “You go ahead. I was about to turn in anyway, it's late.”

“Getting old?” Ben laughs, but there's no malice in his voice. Sid is barely older than Ben, certainly not as old as he looks next to Ben's youthful face, but it's just enough for Ben to joke about every now and then.

“Ancient,” Sid says dryly. He looks up to meet Ben's eyes, flinches at the almost apologetic look in them. Ben looks like that, sometimes, like he regrets that this is all they can be, like he wishes there could be more, but that's not who Ben is. He doesn't seem to get that Sid has all he needs, that he doesn't need anything else from Ben to be happy with him.

“Go on,” Sid says, like Ben need shis permission, his absolution. Ben inclines his head until his nose brushes against Sid's, an almost fragile little gesture, before his arms tighten into a crushing hug, strong and heavy and much more like Ben than any regrets or self-doubts. Sid likes him much better that way. 

“I'll see you tomorrow,” it's half an order, half a question, and Sid nods just in case Ben expects an answer. But Ben's already half on his way to the kitchen to wash his hands, and out of the door by the time Sid has tucked himself back in.

The flat feels empty once Ben is gone. Any place feels that way when Ben walks out, his presence so great that he leaves a tangible void behind. There's a reason people are so desperate to be around him – Ben's company is sweet and heady like a drug. But Sid has spent his entire life by Ben's side and he'll spend the rest of his life with him, too; he doesn't need to follow him around every single second of every single day to be close to him.

And whether Ben gets it or not, that's really all Sid needs.


End file.
